Anti-summer

Today - in my mind anyway - is the end of summer, which is one big relief. I spend most Junes, Julys and Augusts skulking around in the shadows, gulping down industrial quantities of diet coke and generally feeling sorry for myself. mrs househusbandnot says everyone else feels just as hot and uncomfortable as I do during the summer. She is wrong. I feel it much worse than anyone else. In the summer, I wander around in shorts that make me look like a sex offender rather than relaxed and summery, and envy any or all of you who are floating around in your un-sweat blemished linens and your open-toed sandals twittering on about how you should have another bbq and asking if anyone has a cardigan you can borrow because the temperature has dipped below 26 degrees. I am the anti-summer bloke who dreams about the winter and the wind and the rain. And it is just around the corner again.

I can get on with normal life again, free from the selected travels around town from the freezer sections of supermarkets to shops or bars where I know they have air conditioning. Soon, I will be able to wander the streets free from the taxi and van drivers' taunts of "Hot enough for you mate", and go back on public transport which will transform itself back into something resembling something other than a sauna in Hades. Going out will become a purpose rather than a torture, and I will be able to engage in conversations with friends and strangers without watching them watch me sweat my way to the end of a sentence.

Today is also two years to the day that I first met mrs househusbandnot, who on this particular day two years ago was just plain old hotsinglechick before I came bellowing into her life across a lawn at my sister's house. As a special celebration of this anniversary, mrs househusbandnot has gone off for her first day of two weeks' jury service, and I am about to varnish the floors in the hall.

So two good causes for celebration. Me and mrs househusbandnot, and the impending comfort of September weather and a return to normality for me.

What that normality will be I am not sure. I am just about finished on decorating the flat. (I am tempted to post some pics of the flat in its new decorated glory , but then I would be turning into diyloseram, and it would give away too much detail to househusbandnot stalker who I suspect is already way too excited about some of the personal details of my whereabouts he has gleaned over the past month or so.) I need to get a job now to get me out of this househusbandnoting.